


The Prince and The King

by iamavacado



Series: Some Sanders Sides Stories [4]
Category: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders - Freeform, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders - Freeform, M/M, Prinxiety - Freeform, Sanders Sides (Video Blogging RPF), coffee costumer virgil, coffee worker roman, of 200
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 06:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14231670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamavacado/pseuds/iamavacado
Summary: Roman doesn't know this dashing young fellow's name, so on account of what seems to be his favorite color, he gives him a colorful nickname.





	The Prince and The King

**Author's Note:**

> This is 2 of the 200 prompts i am doing. the prompt for this one is "You again."

He remembered him because of his makeup.

‘The Purple Prince’--as Roman had aptly named him on account of not knowing his actual name--had come in a few days ago and ordered a human’s weight in coffee, but that wasn’t the unusual part. People always came in and requested that Roman empty the entire region’s stock of coffee in order for them to get a caffeine boost before the start of work, to pull through an all nighter, or to hype themselves up for a date. It was never a rare sight to see someone begging to jack up their heart rate for a few hours.

So, Roman didn’t remember him from his coffee orders. He remembered him from his makeup. Under his eyes was a healthy application of black eyeshadow, layered to be darker near his eyes, then fade off as it made its way down his face. Makeshift bags, Roman guessed. If he was so tired that he wanted to cover his bags by applying his own bags, then more power to him. In fact, if Roman had the courage to tell him, he would tell him that it looked good. Paired with soft hair that fell in pieces in front of his eyes, a purple shirt that was ripped in a couple places, a jacket with hand-sewn purple patches (and, during winter, a purple sweater), and brown eyes for days, the look seemed to complete itself. Could you see why Roman called him the purple prince? No wonder he always came in for coffee. He must be exhausted looking that good all the time.

However, he never seemed to actually care for coffee. He would order outlandish, off the wall lattes and teas, with the foam here or espresso there, or an extra pump of vanilla honey, or could you go in the back and steal a lemon tart and mix it in the drink like a blizzard at Dairy Queen? And of course, Roman always assumed that one of those fancy drinks were for the purple prince, but one day, he let it slip that he didn’t drink any of the coffees he ordered.

After he had finished the giant list, he perused the menu for just a second more. “And for me,” he said under his breath, lifting a finger at pointing gingerly at the smallest print on the bottom right corner. “I would like a hot chocolate. No whip.”

Roman blinked, and turned back around to see if that was even on the menu. Since when was the last time someone ordered something so simple? It had felt like years. Roman was surprised, but grateful. At least he wouldn’t have to replace the whipped cream again. He had already used up one can on his order alone.

He made the hot chocolate, snuck in a cinnamon stick for good measure, and handed it over, trying not to die when their fingers barely brushed. Purple prince put 40 dollars on the counter and said in his low, tired (and vaguely attractive) voice, “Keep the change.”

Prince took his orders over to a table and set them aside, keeping the hot chocolate held in his hands, cupped around it, absorbing its warmth. He sipped it slowly over the next twenty minutes, and among straggling customers that came in and out, Roman couldn’t help but steal glances over at him. He was scrolling through his phone, and sometimes a rare smile would show up on his face, before promptly disappearing.

If he threw a smile like that in Roman’s direction, he would probably die.

At one point, Roman had become particularly enthralled in the patterns on purple prince’s jacket, and said purple prince took that exact moment to look up and make direct eye contact with Roman.

_ABORT._

Roman tried to cover up his creepy staring by making it seem he was just about to ask him a question. He panicked trying to think of one, and blurt out the first thing that came into his head: “What’s your name?”

_Really? That’s the best you could come up with?_

Purple prince looked a little taken aback at the sudden question, but thankfully, he didn’t seem creeped out. Though, he didn’t say anything. Instead he looked down at his hot chocolate cup for a second, small smile tugging at his lips, and then turned it around so Roman could see something written on it in his own handwriting. And when he saw what was written, he nearly passed out right then in there.

_Purple Prince._

How in the world had Roman done that without thinking, proceeded to make his entire hot chocolate, put in the extra for-good-measure cinnamon stick, give it to him, take the pay, calculate the change, put it in his pocket, and let twenty minutes go by without realizing that he’d done it? Nicknames like that were definitely not to be used in the real world. 

Roman stuttered, trying to cover up his mistake. “I didn’t mean to--uh, I mean- that’s something that I...do with everyone, I didn’t mean to make--” He chuckled nervously. “Please do not take that the wrong way.”

Prince spoke in a voice that might as well have been the water that melted the wicked witch. “No, I like it.” He sounded it out. It sounded even better coming out of his mouth than it did inside of Roman’s head. “Purple Prince.” He looked down at his clothes, and smirked a little. “I never thought of myself as royalty before.”

Roman dared to roll with it a little. “You might as well wear a crown. You’re so regal.” He then promptly bit his tongue, because purple prince made a weird face, and Roman realized that maybe that was a dumb thing to say.

But then the weird face melted into a smile, and Roman felt like he was actually going to die, because then purple prince said, “I should be the one saying that to you.” He stood up and discarded his hot chocolate cup, and then walked over to the counter, resting his elbows on it, as if conversing with a friend. Roman would never wipe this counter again.

He tried to look more put together by grabbing a rag and wiping down the machines behind him. “What do you mean?” he asked, his back turned so as to hide is giant, boyish smile. Good god Roman, a little attention from a cute boy and you just go nuts.

“I mean,” prince said, “I mean that like, you move like a prince does. All royally and shit. I don’t know how to explain it. But you clean cups like you knight someone, and you make coffees like...uh...like a King….uh….” he struggled humorously, “Like a king...makes...coffee. I don’t know, man.” He paused. Roman turned around. “I could just see you in a crown and suit.”

Roman looked at his brown shirt and apron. He scoffed. “Well, I do too, so thank you.”

Purple prince winked, then made his leave. “Catch you around, Coffee King.”

***

A few days later, Purple prince showed up again with a list in his hand, and Roman cracked his knuckles in anticipation of new work.

Prince looked around for a second before spotting Roman behind the counter. He nodded in his direction, and Roman nodded back. “You again,” Roman said amiably. The smile was clear in his voice. Then he cracked his knuckles and said, “Okay, hit me. Trust me, I can take it.”

Purple prince looked down at the paper in his hand. “Actually--” he put it on the counter and slid it towards Roman. “You’re a king. I’m a prince. I think we could work something out.” He slipped Roman another wink and walked out of the shop, with Roman staring longingly after him, thinking, _That was the smoothest thing I have ever heard anybody say in the history of anything ever._

Roman looked down at the paper, and saw that on it was written a phone number. In purple pen. 

But down in the bottom right corner, written in the same purple pen, but in careful cursive, was the name _‘Virgil.'_

Roman said the name slowly, out loud. “Virgil.”

That certainly was a name fit for a prince.

**Author's Note:**

> hit me with a comment. tear my story apart.


End file.
